


From Yesterday

by Duhllin



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-03 05:04:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11525133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duhllin/pseuds/Duhllin
Summary: Please leave critiques!  I would appreciate it very much!





	1. Ignorance

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave critiques! I would appreciate it very much!

I am not liked. I am also not disliked. I have come to the conclusion that the vast majority of the school has no opinion about me. And I am nonetheless fine with that.  
This does not, however, apply to the guy sitting behind me, known as John. He dislikes me, and, for what reason, I do not know. I, myself, do not have an opinion on him, as that would have to mean that I think about him.  
I guessed that he had probably seen the comic book on my desk, because he tapped me and said, “Nerd.”  
Usually I would not let things like that get to me, but I had only gotten two hours of sleep last night (I also do not doubt that the school being out of chocolate milk for breakfast had anything to do with my being irritable). “Do you always let your ignorance get in the way of your intelligence?” I asked.  
Silence.  
“You know, I bet if you weren't so ignorant, you would be getting B's and maybe A's instead of D's and F's,” I said.  
He stood up quickly from his seat and walked in front of me, leaning over a little bit, staring at me with his cold, serious facial expression, while my face was scrunched up. “What'd you say?” Just to clarify, my face wasn't scrunched up because I thought of him as a threat. It was scrunched up because I could smell him. I hadn't looked at him directly at all today, either, but when I did just then, his complexion was pale, rather than his normal tan (which I am pretty sure was fake) look. I brushed that aside, thinking that he probably just got ahold of something bad for breakfast.  
“What did you say?” he repeated.  
I figured it would be best to not to say anything, but even if I did have something to say in response to that, I wouldn't have had enough time to say it, because just a second later, the bell rang, and the teacher, Mr. Chandler, walked into the classroom and John just stood in the same spot. “You're not going to stand during the whole class, are you?” he asked. John glared at me one last time, returning back to his seat. “Thank you.”  
Soon after John sat down, the teacher started talking again. 

At the end of class, I had stayed after, as I usually would, to talk to Mr. Chandler. Because we had gone to the same church since I was 12 and I had gotten along with his son (who, at the time, was seven), and because he was somewhat of a family-friend, I knew him fairly well and found it much easier to talk to him about a lot of things than the other teachers that I had. “So I started reading this new comic,” I started saying, “and there was something that struck me as a bit odd. I was wondering, do you think that it's theoretically possible for –”  
“Before you start with anything, is everything goin' okay?” he interrupted.  
I shrugged. “Yeah, I don't really get bothered by what people say. At least, not what they say directly to me.” I said.  
“No, I didn't mean about that, I know you can handle yourself when it comes to people like John,” he said, pausing for a couple seconds. “I meant everything at home. I haven't seen you at church the past two weeks. You missed yesterday, too. You rarely ever miss school.”  
“Everything's going okay. Could be better, but it's been going fine,” I said, shrugging a shoulder and making brief eye contact with him. “My cousin suddenly ended up in the hospital yesterday morning. I hadn't seen him in a while, so I figured it would be best if I ran by the hospital to check in on him and see if he needed anything. He got some fever, is what he said. Must have been pretty bad.”  
“Alright, well,” he started saying. “if there's anything I can do–if it gets out of hand, with your step-dad and all–just let me know. Okay?”  
“Got it,” I said, heading back towards the doorway to head out. “I should probably get to class. See ya later.”  
“Didn't you have a question about the comic you've been reading?”  
“It can wait until tomorrow. No big deal. Don't want to be late to my next class.”  
“Alright. Have a good day.”  
“Likewise.” With that, I walked out of his classroom.


	2. Probably Got Ahold of Some Bath Salts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, critiques are much appreciated.

The rest of the day had gone by quickly, to my surprise. Most times it would tend to feel like an eternity before even a minute would go by – it was as though time would freeze as I waited and stared at the clock.

Later on, when I had gotten home, I walked into the living room to turn on the TV and switched to the news, wondering which celebrity had an affair this time, because who cares about the important things going on in the world when you have gossip, right?

I occupied myself by going into the kitchen (which was right beside the living room) and cleaning the dishes that filled up the double-sided sink; plates and bowls piled up on top of each other, all of them from my step-dad, Jansen.

As I was washing the dishes, when I got down to only a couple plates and a few spoons, knives, and forks, something on the news caught my attention. I couldn't hear much, I only caught a couple of words, like “crazed man” and something about “attacking a police officer”. And then there was a video. From what I could see, there was a guy dressed in a torn white shirt, his pants filthy with grime and who knows what else.

Then, he sprinted towards a police officer, whom was armed, and didn't stop, not even when he was shot three times, and tackled the officer to the ground and started beating him senselessly, his fists pounding against the guy that was on the ground. And, well, then he bit him.

 _Probably got ahold of some bath salts,_ I thought to myself.

Nothing the man did got him from the lunatic's deadly grasp, and just like that, he was shot, right in the head, by another officer. I was so focused on the TV that I hadn't been paying attention to what I was grabbing from the sink, and I cut my thumb on a knife, wincing, jerking my hand away from the sink, pulling it close to my chest, watching as blood started drooping from the cut. After I tended to my small wound before it caused my death, I finished the few dishes that were left and went upstairs to my room, and layed down on my bed, the springs poking at my back uncomfortably.

It was a little past eight, which was pretty early for me to go to sleep. Usually I wouldn't go sleep until around one in the morning, sometimes later. However, I was fairly exhausted, so I figured that I should make tonight an exception.

At six o'clock I woke up. An hour before I had to for school. I sat up in bed slowly, my eyes still closed and feeling like they weighed a ton. I was half-convinced they had been replaced with bricks.

I got up slowly, my bed creaking loudly and annoyingly, and went to the bathroom to get ready for yet another day that would feel like hell.

~~

I went straight to class after I had gotten to school and put my head down on my desk after I had sat down. John wasn't there, which made me think I would get a break today. It also made me wonder what was up. John rarely ever missed a day of school. Which, you wouldn't think, if you took even a brief glance at his grades.

~~

That night, after I had gotten home from school, I got into an argument with my step-dad. As usual, he had started it over something absurdly stupid (me eating a piece of pizza when I “should have been full from the lunch at school”). It ended with him smashing a couple plates against the floor and storming out of the house, leaving me to clean up the mess. As always.

I went to bed a few hours earlier again, and woke up thirty minutes before seven so I could through the whole routine again: Get ready for school, get on the bus, go to class, go home, get into another argument with my step-dad. What fun!

Then Friday came.

Friday was quite unusual. The reason for this being is because almost half of the class had been called out for early dismissals. Almost all in the same 30-minute time-frame. Every time Mr. Chandler was about to explain something important, the loud-speaker would interrupt him. One person that was called for an early dismissal, however, was rather odd.

“Mr. Chandler?” the voice over the speaker said, the sound of static faint.

“Yes?” he replied.

“Can you send up Parker, please, for an early dismissal? His step-dad is here to pick him up.”

“Um...” he replied hesitantly, looking up at the speaker the voice was coming from, eyebrows raised slightly, and then back at me. “Yeah, he'll be right up.”

“Thank you,” the voice said, and then there was a click and the static stopped. I just looked down at my desk, staring at the paper in front of me, rubbing the back of my neck slowly and pretending that I didn't hear the voice over the speaker.

“Parker,” Mr. Chandler said, hands resting on his desk as he leaned over, looking directly at me. “They called your name. Early dismissal. You gotta go.”

After a while of not answering, Mr. Chandler pushed off the desk with his hands and went towards the door and opened it. “You mind stepping out real quick, Parker?” he asked, stepping out of the classroom, waiting for me to do the same. I grabbed my sagging messenger bag as I stood up slowly, and everyone was staring at me, a few people whispering things to each other as I passed them on my way outside of the classroom, shutting the door completely when I entered the hallway.

“What's up?” he asked.

Just as I was about to reply, I heard an all-too-familiar voice from behind me saying, “There you are.” I didn't even bother turning around, because I already knew it was Jansen by that annoying, deep tone that he always had. He and Mr. Chandler looked at each other for a brief second. “Taylor,” he said, as if greeting him. However, that wasn't  _just_ a greeting. It was a you-better-not-get-in-my-way greeting.

I don't really know what happened between them, but Jansen wasn't too fond with Mr. Chandler. Every time I tried to ask why he didn't like him, he would either change the subject or tell me to shut up and mind my own business.

“Jansen,” Mr. Chandler said in reply, his eyes squinting for a fraction of a second, crossing his arms over his chest.

Jansen looked over at me, pointing his first two fingers at me. “You're coming with me,” he said. If his thumb had been cocked, it would have looked like he was pointing a finger gun at me (which would result in a two-day in-school suspension for him, mind you).

“I don't have to go anywhere with you,” I said, my heart skipping a beat (although it felt like it had stopped altogether).

He took a step towards me, but before he could take another, Mr. Chandler had interfered by stepping in front of him with his hand out. Jansen didn't step any further, as though Mr. Chandler's hand were casting a force field, and if he were to pass it, he would be vaporized. “First of all, you don't have custody of him. Second, he is 18 now. He has his own free-will.”

Silence.

“Now, I suggest you leave.”

Jansen hadn't looked at Mr. Chandler for one second. His eyes were glued on me the entire time, as though he could grasp me with that stare and force me to leave with him by doing just that.

“Just wait until you get home,  _boy_ ,” Jansen gritted through his teeth before stomping off. I wouldn't doubt it if he had left a trail of steam on his way out.

“Everything's fine now,” Mr. Chandler said, patting my back.

“I know,” I said. It took me a few seconds to realize he was reassuring me because I was shaking uncontrollably. And I felt dizzy. The whole world was spinning around me.  _Maybe if I just sit down for a minute._   _Just need to rest for a second._  I slowly pressed my back against the nearest wall and slid down, my head leaning back against the wall as well.

“Is this one bad?” he asked, placing a hand on my shoulder. I flinched at the touch. “Do I need to go get the nurse?” I shook my head. He knew the nurse just made things worse for me. She was a gray-haired Hillary-Clinton-looking-witch with a mole right above her upper lip that was near to the right corner of her mouth. She would constantly poke and prod at you until you would break down, like it brought her joy. If the town were to suddenly say that there were recent sightings of a lady flying around on a broom, I highly doubt that she would not be the first suspect.

“It's fine,” I said, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. “Only dizzy now. Just...give me a few minutes. I'll be right in. I just need a few minutes. It's not that bad.” To me, this wasn't anywhere near being classified as an anxiety attack. To me, it was actually more of a wow-that-got-my-blood-pumping-now-I-need-to-sit-before-I-fall-down attack.

~~

No one said much to me as I entered the class. They just stared, as usual. I returned to my seat and sat down, placing my backpack beside my desk, rubbing my forehead, using my hand to block my eyes from everyone that was still focused on me.

After a few minutes, the principle – an old woman with gray hair, dressed in clothes that were casual yet still seemed to show authority – walked into the classroom, and my heart started racing, wondering if Jansen came back and she was coming to get me and make me leave with him. “Mr. Chandler,” she said. “May I speak with you for a second?”

“Yeah, sure.” He looked over at me and I could tell that he was probably thinking it was about me and the event that had just happened. As he exited the classroom, everyone started whispering, and the whispers grew louder. Everyone was talking about some kind of school evacuation or something. Mr. Chandler returned to the classroom a few minutes later and stood at his desk, looking over us all. The talking came to stop a few seconds after. “There's something going on. So far, we don't know what, but we do know that it's best to let everyone go home now and –” then the room broke out in cheers from the few people that hadn't been called to go home. “Hey, hey! Listen!” The cheering stopped after a few minutes, and then he continued. “Like I was saying, everyone's gonna go home. Just get all your stuff and go outside and get on your  _regular_ buses.”

And with that, everyone scrambled to gather all their things and stuff them in their backpacks without care. I waited at my desk until everyone left before grabbing my bag and walking up to Mr. Chandler. “I don't trust you going back to your house. I think it's best you come with me,” he said as he gathered all of his important things, steadily packing them into his black messenger bag. “If Jansen's there, it's not gonna be good for you again this time, and...and it's also dangerous out there.”

“Dangerous?” I asked. “What do you mean, 'dangerous'?”


	3. A Virus?

He paused for a second, looking as though he was trying to find the right words to say as if they could be found flying around in the air of his classroom. “There's a virus; and it's spreading, quickly. It's causing a panic and everyone's taking their kids out of school. Some teachers have even already left.”

“A virus?” I asked, looking back at him, wondering if he was being serious. “Like...what does it do?” He probably didn't know much about, and I didn't want to overwhelm him with the questions swarming my brain.

“As of right now,” he started as he shut off the lights to his classroom and headed out with me to his side, locking his door when we were out in the hallway. “All I know is that it drives you insane, and...” He stopped talking, as though he didn't want to say the next part. He hurried towards the exit of the school, and, by the looks of it, it would take a while before they'd get past the crowd of people shoving each other and trying to get out of the school. “Come on, this way. There's another way out.” He turned around and started going back down the hallway, taking a left down another one, then a right shortly after.

I looked up at him, waiting for him to continue what he was saying. I know he hadn't forgotten what he was about say. He just didn't want to say it for some reason. “And?” I said.

“And... they think it might be airborne,” he rubbed his nose, quickening his pace, taking another left into the school's library. “Right over here,” he said, acting as though what he had said about it being airborne should be ignored. He made his way to the back of library and to a door with a sign above it that read “ **EXIT”** and another sign on the door that read “ **Alarm will sound if door is opened”**. He pressed both hands against the door and pushed, the door opening slightly, squealing loudly, as though it were alive. After it had opened just two inches, the alarm started blaring, filling the whole library, and probably the whole school.

Mr. Chandler pushed it open the rest of the way, and we both hurried out. I ran with him, following him to his jeep and opening the passenger side door after he unlocked the vehicle. I hopped in and he did as well, and we both buckled up. He inserted the key into the ignition and turned it, the jeep starting up with a roar. He put it in gear and drove off, luckily making it out before there was a long line of cars in front of us.

I had thousands of questions running through my mind about this new virus spreading around. How much of the population do they think had it? Would it kill you? What are the symptoms? How did it happen? And that guy on the news a couple days ago... Did he come in contact with it?

 


	4. Are You Stupid?

We arrived at what must have been Mr. Chandler's house about 30 minutes after leaving from the school. And it was a decent sized house, for a teacher's salary. It was plain white with the roof made out of reddish-brown tiles, a red-bricked chimney sticking out of the middle of the roof. He left his jeep running as he ran up to the left side of his house, going up the steps and opening up the door that squeaked loudly.  
Before we had arrived at his house (only a few minutes after leaving the school), Mr. Chandler's sister had called him about the outbreak and talked him into coming down to stay with her (she only lived maybe two or three towns over, anyways), and after he hung up, he called his son to tell him to pack up whatever he needed, and to only bring one suitcase. I figured it'd be best for me to stay where I was while he was with the two kids. Just as I had turned my head to the right to look out of the window of the jeep, I caught a glimpse of someone running up to a trashcan a few yards away from me and started digging through it like they had lost the most important thing ever to them, yelling, “Nothing!” over and over again.  
The guy had hair torn out in several patches, leaving nothing but red, bald spots. Grime covering his face, his pants a brownish-green color now, and his shirt which was ripped in multiple spots. Is that what the virus does to you? Just as I was leaning a bit closer to the window, the squeaking came from the door again as Mr. Chandler opened it, turning my gaze to him, a boy (Mr. Chandler's son) and a girl (my age, maybe?) following right behind him, each with bags and suitcases in their hands. I quickly focused my gaze back onto the infected guy and saw that the noise had caught his attention as well.  
I sunk down lower into my seat to stay out of sight from the infected man in case he looked my way. As for the three emerging from the house, I tried to grab their attention, but it was no use; they had their backs to me. The man had his lips drawn back in a tight snarl to reveal his hideous teeth. And then he started sprinting towards them. Before I even had time to think, my hand was on the face of the steering wheel and I pushed on it, the horn blasting loud enough to get the guy to turn around. His eyes scanned around, trying to find out where the noise had come from, then his eyes found me.  _Idiot! You just signed your own death warrant_!  
His head tilted to the side a little, and a smile had formed on his face like he had picked me out as his most favorite meal. “Come out, boy,” he said, his voice making a disturbing crack as he spoke. A small cry had escaped from inside me – or, I hoped it was inside me – and I had realized that what I had done probably set my fate. I was gonna die. And, to be honest, I thought I would have gladly walked straight into Death's arms at any other point in my life. But not now. At least not like this.  
A chill ran down my spine, my whole body frozen, not moving at all; my blood felt like it had been replaced with cement. I forced myself to look in the back seat, trying to find something, anything, to use as a weapon of defense. “Come on out, boy,” the crackling voice said as it got closer, twigs and leaves crunching beneath his feet as he approached the vehicle – as he approached _me_. “Let's play.” Nothing. There was nothing. I felt underneath each seat in the back, and then my hand made contact with something. It was cold, and hard, like metal. I pulled it out from under, and it was a tire iron. When I looked back up at the guy, he was now only a few feet away from the vehicle. Then I saw Mr. Chandler and the two kids looking over at me and the crazed man. I shook my head at them, subtly enough to where the man wouldn't realize I was trying to communicate with the ones behind him, but obvious enough so that Mr. Chandler would know not to come any closer.  
I grabbed the handle on the door of the jeep with my right hand and pulled it, pushing the door open, keeping the tire iron in my left hand and hidden behind my back. I slowly stepped out of the vehicle and kept my eyes on the man in tattered clothing. I watched as he stood there, his head still slightly tilted and his hideous looking teeth still showing past his sinister smile. I had managed to get myself all the way out of the vehicle and a few feet away from it, the tire iron still hidden behind my back.  
“Let's play,” he said again, the disgusting crackle of his voice making me cringe. Just then, he started sprinting towards me, and I threw my left hand back behind me and then in front of me in a semi-circle, the end of the metal weapon coming into contact with the side of his face, hitting his cheek (I doubt that it hadn't chipped some of his teeth, but if it did, he must have swallowed them). His head jerked to the right and he stumbled back a few feet. Once he got his balance, he glared back up at me, blood starting to run out of his mouth and down his chin. His smile came back. And with the blood, it looked more sinister than it previously had. He then sprinted towards me again, but this time, when he was two feet away from me, something was smacked against the back of his head. He tried to keep his balance, but it was no use. He lost his footing and fell over onto the ground, knocked out cold.  
Behind the unconscious man was Mr. Chandler, standing there with a metal pipe in hand, the end slightly rusted along with blood on it from the impact. “Are you _stupid_ ,” he said, throwing the object down on the ground, “You could've gotten yourself killed. You know that, right?” He walked over to his jeep and opened the door of the driver's side, pushing his seat forward so the boy and girl could get in the back. “How _idiotic_ can you be, Parker? Get in.”  
“I'm alive, though, aren't I?” I asked, shrugging a shoulder. “He was going after you.”  
“I would have been able to handle it,” he said as he angrily pushed his seat back after the two were buckled in and seated comfortably. “ _Get in_.”  
I rolled my eyes, whispering to myself, “Yeah, I bet you could've.” I stepped over the body to get over to the passenger's side of the vehicle, opening the door and climbing back inside before buckling up. I looked back, and sitting in the seat behind me was the girl I had seen come out with Mr. Chandler and his son. She was slim and pretty, seemed to be around the age of eighteen, like me, and she had a brown cascade of fine hair spilling past her shoulders, and hazel eyes. Whether or not she was related to Mr. Chandler, I did not know. I did, however, know for a fact that she wasn't his daughter.  
Next to her was a young boy – Mr. Chandler's son – who had short, light brown hair and his eyes a sort of blue-grey color – like his father's.

 


	5. Take Whatever Is Needed, and God Bless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {Chapter edited on 7/29/2017.}

Darkness. No light at all–just darkness all around me, swallowing me up. I couldn't tell where I was, but I was pretty sure I was inside. I only figured that because I could feel an ice-cold floor beneath me.

I couldn't move. It was as though the blood in my veins was replaced with cement. Every now and then, I could get my finger to twitch, but that's all that I could seem to do. And I knew that would be a problem, because I could sense...I wasn't alone in here...

I could hear it–the faint sound of someone (or something) breathing. I couldn't move. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't move even an inch. And the breathing... It was either getting louder...or closer...

Then came the sound of feet shuffling against the floor, the breathing getting closer and closer with every passing second. I struggled to move, but all I could do was lift my head. It tired me just trying to do that.

I ceased my struggling when an apparition came into view; a tall and bulky figure, hunching, and making its way toward me. Words came out of its mouth, but I couldn't make out what it said. Not that I couldn't hear it–it was speaking loudly enough for me to be able to hear it, I just couldn't tell what it was saying.

It was only a few seconds after seeing the figure when the sound of screaming came. Abrupt; sudden and ear-piercing, like nails scrapping against a chalk board. Then people came out of the darkness, shouting and running.

I looked around frantically, trying to find out what was happening. But there was nothing. I saw nothing. Only people running around. I couldn't see what it was they were running from. I shot a look to my left, and that's what I saw it. And it was... It was monstrous.

It was on its hands and feet, head tilted to the left, eyes white and bulging out. It wasn't human... At least, not anymore. Its clothes were shredded and its hands were twisted back in an inhuman way, facing inward, and its feet pointing outward.

In just a matter of seconds, it was right by my side, eyeing me with those bulging eyes, lips gone, and some of its teeth too. Then it was on me, taking a chunk out of my neck. I couldn't scream, though. No sound made it past my lips. But it felt like I was screaming.

No one seemed to notice the thing as it took a chunk of flesh from my still-living self. They just raced past, still screaming. And in the screams, I could've sworn I heard someone calling my name. It came again, just a second later. It _was_ someone calling my name. “Parker!” I heard again.

My eyes shot open and my heart was beating through my chest. I took in my surroundings–which had now changed; no one running around, no one screaming–just me in the jeep, along with Mr. Chandler, the girl around my age (Ava), and Mr. Chandler's son (Sam)... And they were all staring at me, like they had just seen that _thing_ that I had seen in my dream.

“What?” I asked as I shifted around uncomfortably, trying to shrug off their gaze. Having eyes on me always made me feel nervous. “Just a nightmare. I'm fine.”

It was only the sound of the engine rumbling as Mr. Chandler drove on. The windows were all rolled up to protect the four of us from the chilly January-night air.

Nearly thirty minutes after I had woken up from my nightmare, we stopped at a local gas station, which was smarter than going to a more well-known store like Wal-Mart or Food Lion or something of the likes; no one was here. On the front door, there was a sign: _Take whatever is needed, and God bless._

Everything in the store was ours.

We entered the gas station, the chilly air being replaced with Goldilocks-temperature air. Everything may have been all ours now. However, a majority of the store was stocked with strictly junk foods. Packs of Ramen Noodles...bags of Doritos and Lay's Potato Chips...cookies, popcorn, couple cans of soup, donuts, and so-on. We could live off all this stuff if we wanted to, but it would not be substantially unhealthy for us.

Mr. Chandler grabbed plastic grocery bags from the front counter, handing each of us two bags. There were four of us, and five double-sided shelves of items to look through (however, there are also the glass cases on the walls with varieties of drinks in them). The shelves were horizontal to the front door. Whenever anyone would walk in, the first shelf they would see just so happened to see would be the liquor shelf. An uncomfortable thought of my dad tried nudging its way through by mind, but did not succeed due to Mr. Chandler calling my attention: “Parker, you go back to the last shelf, near the drinks. Get whatever we may need from that shelf, fill the first two bags, then come back for more bags to put drinks in.”

~~~

When we had all finished packing food and drinks into the plastic bags (three bags from me, two bags from Ava, three and a half from Mr. Chandler, and one and a half from Sam), I began to thoroughly examine the contents of each bag.

“You do realize this is all junk, right?” Although the majority of bags were filled with a variety of unhealthy substances, my question was more directed towards what Sam's bag held inside of it. “We can't _actually_ live off of all this.”

“Yes we can!” yelled Mr. Chandler's son as he carried out a party-sized box with 24 bags of different chips sorted inside it; three of each. I caught a glimpse of Ava rolling her eyes playfully at what Sam had said.

“Yes, I _know_ that,” Mr. Chandler said as he stuffed one final bag of junk inside of the jeep. “We'll just have to eat some of this until we can get to an _actual_ grocery store. And even then, it's possible it could've been raided by the time we ended up getting there. People're less likely to go to the local stores that are small than the big ones with everything. Pretty sure you already knew that, though. We only need enough to last us a few days.” Nearly an hour or two ago, before I had fallen asleep, Mr. Chandler had turned on the radio to hear what was happening. Apparently people were raiding nearly every store possible of food and supplies. The police couldn't even do much about it.

I went back inside to get the supplies we may actually need: lighters, pocket knives, razors, and a couple of watches. I grabbed all that they had of the important items, dropping them in my backpack. I also grabbed a pair of cheap headphones. Cheap as in: the kind that usually only last about a week and then one of the ear pieces stops working all of a sudden and it just drives you crazy.

We hit the road after that, heading God-knows-where, Ava asking the one question we were all thinking. “So, uh... Where are we heading?”

“A hotel for now. We should all get some rest,” he said.

“Where are going after that?” I asked.

“We're goin' up to my sister's.”

I figured he would have already explained to his son and Ava where he was planning on going, however, as they had no idea where we were headed, I figured that it must have slipped his mind with all that has been happening.

 


	6. That's Crap

We arrived at the hotel nearly half an hour later, payed for the hotel and whatnot. Mr. Chandler chatted with the owner, who said he’d be leaving tomorrow, and that we’d have to be out by then. Luckily we didn’t intend on staying longer than one night. We’d probably be on the road pretty early in the morning.  
I switched on the TV to check on the news to see if they had any information that could help us. A woman appeared on the screen. “--and we also know that the virus is, in fact, not airborne, but can spread through scratches, bites, sexual contact, and various other ways. We also urge everyone to stay indoors and not to open their doors for anyone. A cure for the virus will likely be available within the next three to four days. That is all we have for you tod–“ I shut the TV off.  
“That's crap,” Mr. Chandler said. “It takes years to come up with a cure for a virus. No way they could get one within even a month.”  
“Unless they planned all of this. You know...maybe had a cure handy in case it got out of hand?” I added. Mr. Chandler and Ava stared at me. “What? Just kidding.”  
“I mean...it's not unlikely,” Mr. Chandler said. “They could have been testing something and then it got loose or...I don't know. But that is a possibility.”  
“Why would they say that, though?” Ava asked. “That they'll have a cure soon?”  
“To keep everyone from freaking out more than they already are,” I said. “You can't just expect them to come out and say that the cure is gonna take years to create. You know how much chaos that would cause?”  
“And the fact that they decided to suddenly announce that they'll have a cure in a few days...” Mr. Chandler said, pausing for a second. “It suggests that the virus might be spreading quickly.”

Everyone else was lying down, asleep. I sat in a chair by the window, the moonlight shimmering down through the glass, also casting a light blue into the room. I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking too much. About that infected guy.   
“Can’t sleep?” asked Ava. She opened up the small refrigerator by the dresser, the yellow light that shone from it now replacing the light blue that shone on the floor. She took out a water bottle, unscrewing and taking a sip from of it.  
“Not really. You?”  
She just shrugged.  
“So,” I started. “Are you his niece or something? Related in any way?”  
“No. His son was sick and he wanted him to stay home from school, so I offered to watch him.”  
“You don't go to school?”  
“Graduated last year.”  
Silence. “You never got my name. I'm--”  
“Parker. I know. He's told me about you. He also said you're a bit awkward around people.”  
“Oh.” Sure hope that was all he mentioned about me.  
The air was quiet now, the sound of Ian shifting in bed breaking the silence for a second or two. It began to feel awkward, and I am sure she thought the same thing because she got up a few seconds later to go lay back down.  
Outside, a lone leaf swept across the sidewalk.


End file.
